


And Here He Had No Name

by benignneglect



Series: It'd Probably be Better to be Numb [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Parents Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benignneglect/pseuds/benignneglect
Summary: Mickey reflects on the past and present. He was never under the illusion that a happy life with Ian would fix him. But it sure fucking helps. He will have a lot of bad days but some will be better. Progress, after all, isn't linear.This is my first fic. I'm sorry if it's bad.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: It'd Probably be Better to be Numb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724692
Comments: 25
Kudos: 44





	And Here He Had No Name

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so I'm brand new and still just experimenting. So don't be too harsh. It's not compulsory to read. Mainly, I am someone who struggles heavily with their mental health. Basically, this is a form of therapy for me. And at points, it might seem cruel but this is not about me torturing Mickey. This is a story about coping with vicious, cruel cycles of trauma. Anyway, that's all I want to say. I don't know if anyone will actually read this but I thought I'd put this here just in case. Also, this is gonna be real short.

**Then**

_The panic attacks could come at any time. He was no less likely to experience it in a grocery store than in a gun range. Too much fighting for far too long and now he was older than his skin. His heart sagged in place where it used to jump wildly in his chest, yearning for a fight at every turn. The fight was a veil of safety, a far more fleeting protection than he’d ever expect. You live for the fight as long as it lasts. And when that’s gone, so are you. Perhaps, he wasn’t gone though. Not really. Perhaps, his heart was still alive. But he was numb to the beating. He was numb to it all._

_And then there was his past blinking at him in shock. And all of a sudden, there was Ian Clayton Gallagher stood in place, hands clutched tightly to his shopping carts, eyes wide and mouth agape. Mickey's jaw clenched shut. Surprise was an unwelcome shock, reserved for moments of terror. Of being found out, imprisoned, beaten bloody, or humiliated. He did not allow himself to be surprised by the kindness of other people. And if he hadn't known better, he would've said there was a kindness to Ian's eyes. But it wasn't Gallagher's doe-eyed pity. It was a sort of spark and glimmer. An illusion that only made it hurt that much more. He wasn't a fool._

_It were as though he were waiting for some grand romantic reunion. As if he hadn’t held the welfare of Mickey's heart in his slippery palms. But the time for hope had come and passed. The spark had glittered for a blissful moment only to fade away. Wasn't the first time it faded. Wouldn't be the last. And he may be miserable but he wasn't a fool. He never would be again. At least, he had the sense not to touch him. No one could touch him. Not unless he let them. Not because he was fragile but because his body was his own. Strictly his own. He was not a fucking prop or an extra pair of hands. He was not his father's errand boy or Gallagher's personal project. Maybe he was nothing at all. But he couldn’t stand anyone touching him. And that now included Ian Clayton Gallagher._

_After all, the drugs were always there. The booze was always there. And it was only then that he could finally be no one. He only got hurt when he was someone with a face. But here he had his space. And here he had no name._

**Now**

Sometimes Mickey forgot he no longer had to hide. That no one was searching for his face. That he needed no alias or disguise. But walking around as just himself with nothing to hide made him very uneasy. He couldn’t be seen. He wouldn’t be seen. He would never let them see him. He was never, ever safe. Never, ever.

It should've been a simple run to the grocery store. And Mickey can take goddamn grocery trips. He wasn't some invalid but maybe he was. A bitch. A pussy. A fleck of dirt. But no, he was above that now. He let the worst of the thoughts settle and shred. Then he slammed the car door shut and got his goddamn groceries. All he had to do was follow the list. Lettuce. Gross. Juice. Don't ever have enough. Kale. Hold on. What the fuck, Gallagher? But he did have to admit, it was a funny picture, tattooed knuckles wrapped around some PTA sponsored vegetable. Unless it was a fucking fruit. Who fucking knew? The PTA never fucking liked him anyway. Always out to get him. As if his prison record made him a deadbeat dad. Maybe he had knuckle tats and a notorious name but that little girl had him wrapped around his fucking finger. She was a fierce, little thing. And it was then that he started remembering.

Ian had told him what to do when this happened. But he couldn't deal with that right now. He was jumping out of his skin. And they were all looking at him. Judging him. Searching for guilt. It wouldn't be hard to find. A nice little bounty award. They'd tell their friends. They would find him. They would all fucking find him and what about Ian? What about Lilly? Her sweet little face and her macaroni mermaid art? They knew he was fucked. He was shaking, actually shaking. He was trying to stay inside his own skin but his skin was jumping and he couldn't stand still. The world was spinning. It was going too fast. And he needed to run. He needed to fucking run. He needed to do it right the fuck now. And he finally listened to Ian. Left his shopping cart right where it was, left his car, left his goddamn dignity. He ran just to break out of his own head. But everything was going too fast. And he didn't have time. He needed to get home. He needed his bed. To be held down and anchored.

Sitting there in bed hours later, Ian dead asleep in his chair, he felt the lingering effects. Panic attacks linger like that, take you away from the world and drop you off somewhere in the dark. But the worst part of all was trying to find trust in that darkness. And that trust never came back so easy. Trust had never been an easy thing for Mickey anyway. It was hard enough on the better days. Every passing moment of vulnerability, where he'd offer Ian a ride or kiss him or hold his hand, he was letting him under his skin. And maybe no one should be there. No one should be able to look inside of him or love him or hold him. But Mickey was the love of someone else's life and there, he had a name.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I feel like I have to say that I'm not shitting on Ian. That's not the point. This isn't a story of right and wrong. This is about how Mickey feels. Though I'm writing this from Mickey's POV, this is a story of two imperfect people who've both been through hell, seeking individual growth and finding love and support in one another.


End file.
